A Purple Shirt in the Blue TARDIS
by mrose13
Summary: The Doctor and Sherlock have an unusual meeting under even more unusual circumstances. A story follows.


_**This is the first chapter- for now. If you think I should write more, leave a review please! I hope you like it :)**_

Sherlock felt a prick at his neck, sudden and alarming. The prick was surely a syringe whose contents were searching for its point of rest inside the flowing veins of his body. The fluid quickly seeped into his system, pumping along to the rhythm of Sherlock's heart. The syringe was pulled out as suddenly as it had entered. His knees flew out from under him and a pair of arms slid underneath his own, keeping him from crumpling right then and there.

He was angry. Very angry.

Sherlock steadied himself and turned around to face his attacker. He saw that it was a man. A tall man, at that. Sherlock was used to looking down upon everyone, but this man was at eye-level with him. He was young, probably between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. A swath of dark hair swooped down across his forehead, nearly covering his eyes. He wore terrible clothing: a hideous tan colored jacket over a ridiculous, almost pink colored shirt. His trousers didn't quite cover his ankles, as if he had worn the same ones every day for the past several years and his legs had decided to grow longer. Possibly the worst of all was the crooked maroon bow tie that this man seemed to wear with pride.

Sherlock got to work, deducting every aspect of the man. Judging by the man's clothing, he didn't care what anyone thought of him. Sherlock thought that he must carry himself so as to attract attention, probably walking in an unusual manner by swinging his gangly limbs about. Many people in London stayed under the radar, but Sherlock could tell that this man was much different.

The man seemed utterly confident in himself as he stared back at Sherlock, leading him to believe that the man always believed himself to be in charge and know what was going on. So the man was intelligent, then. He seemed like a happy and goofy man (what else could explain the bow tie?) and most likely used his intelligence for good.

But wait- the man's deep-set eyes were rigid underneath the confident look he carried now, which therefore led Sherlock to believe that he possessed a sliver of ice in his heart. Which heart, though? Sherlock was very close to the man and immediately recognized a second heat source emanating from the man's chest. This man had two hearts, and Sherlock wanted to know why.

A more pressing matter was at hand, though. The liquid from the syringe was fast moving, and Sherlock knew that he was going to pass out. He stumbled away from the man, yelling for John. Where was John? Sherlock couldn't remember why John was not there with him.

He ran, or tried to run, down a side street, gaining as much distance as possible from the tall man. His vision went in and out like the waves on a shore, and soon Sherlock couldn't see where he was going. He ran into something hard and solid, probably the side of a building, and collapsed onto the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he vaguely saw the man turning the corner that he had just run around a few seconds before.

The man ran towards Sherlock and slipped his hand underneath Sherlock's neck, supporting it as spasms racked Sherlock's body. By that point, Sherlock was a very confused man, and he was not usually confused by anything. Why was this man helping him if he was the one who had injected the tranquilizer? Sherlock had too many questions for the man, and very minimal time in which to ask them. He asked the only one he could think of at the moment. It was Sherlock's last coherent thought as his eyes began to roll back in his head and his body went limp in the other man's arms.

* * *

The Doctor watched Clara inject the sedative into Sherlock Holmes from a safe distance away. The second Holmes's knees buckled, the Doctor was already holding him up and Clara had vanished into the shadows. Sherlock faced the Doctor, looking very pissed off for a split second, but the look slowly turned to interest and then confusion as he processed the Doctor's appearance.

The scarf-clad man suddenly seemed to realize the trouble he was in. He turned and ran the best he could down the pavement and turned onto an adjacent street. The Doctor clumsily raced after him (he had never been very coordinated) and almost ran past the street Sherlock had turned onto. Clara always made fun of his giraffe-like running, but the Doctor couldn't help it- he had always run that way! Tripping over his feet, he rushed to Holmes as the sedative took its toll, shoving an arm below him so he didn't crack his head on the solid ground. His body administered multiple twitches as it tried to fight off the fluid swimming through his body, doing him no use whatsoever.

Sherlock Holmes slurred out a full sentence before his face fell slack and his body stilled at last.

"Whhhat...are...you?"


End file.
